Ezra Koenig, noted member of the band Vampire Weekend, is someone I consider an inspiration due to his incredibly unique style in clothing, speaking, singing and writing. Therefore, if he thinks that it’s a good idea to for youth’s to have blogs, then I’m gonna listen to him. Perhaps actually using this blog will prepare me for the wickedness I see when I finally start my own indie band after graduating from Columbia in English (basically his life). I’ve had various failed attempts to have a blog, on essentially every platform, but they have all faded away as I forget about them or just don’t feel like writing in them. The idea of a blog is very foreign to me. In general, I tend to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself and also don’t think as favorably of my writing as others may. Due to this combination, sharing my thoughts publicly through my writing is alien as it gets, but here I am. I read somewhere that in order for progress to occur, you must leave your comfort zone. Apparently my comfort zone is just existing and not sharing anything, so breaking that mold may somehow make me a better person.
Partially due to my desire to begin to have my personality visible in my writing and partially because my life is really not that exciting, I have decided to tell a mundane story of my daily life. Today is the 3rd Sunday of May. Nearly every 2nd or 3rd Sunday of each month, I get a haircut. To me, hair isn’t a huge deal. I don’t use massive amounts of product in my hair or have any special hairstyle. Heck, the most effort I put into my hair is using 2-in-1 shampoo and then combing it. All I really need from a haircut is for my sideburns to not cover my ears (my ears are really weird looking and I NEED the world to be able to see that). I’ve had many terrible experiences with haircuts over they years, like everyone else. From cuts on the back of my neck to completely crooked cuts, I’ve seen it all. Another issue I’ve had is conversation. There have been too many times when I’ve had barbers who wish to tell me their entire life story while cutting my hair and expect me to respond. When getting my hair cut, I enter this calm, restful state where all I want to do is close my eyes and think. Because of this, the whole conversation deal doesn’t really work out. However, a few months ago, at my local barbershop, I found the perfect barber. His name is Eric and he never says a word while cutting my hair. Also, he remembers exactly how I want my hair cut and never has to ask. So, a trip to the barbershop involves around 10 words and relaxation. After years of bad barbers, this is bliss.